I arrived in Gatwick airport with little trouble.
The S9 from Bornholmer Strasse, now a direct line to Shonefeld airfield, makes getting to the cheaper flights in Berlin so much simpler. There’s no more transferring at Friedrichstrasse, Germany’s largest central train hub (and a confusing nightmare of epic proportions unless you happen to know what you’re doing, which I do not).
The EasyJet airline staff was great, making the flight and ensuing travel easy as well. (Although note to self: I can buy my Gatwick Express tickets on the plane – or on the train – and Oyster travel cards are $1 cheaper on the plane. Also: I keep forgetting that people speak English. I’ve already ordered in German once – zoinks — and pointed at a menu without speaking because I forgot.)
My hotel, the EasyHotel down the street from the Victoria Street Underground, is really just a hostel. There’s a double bed, which takes up the entire room and a small bathroom that has a toilet and shower (which is separated by a rounded curtain that pulls out). It’s quite efficient, but definitely light on amenities. Unless a bed, toilet and shower are amenities to you.
In which case, it’s full of them.
I dropped off my bags around 930 pm (21:30 to the damn Europeans) and headed to Trafalgar Square. I walked past Buckingham Palace to the National Gallery (in Trafalgar Square) and thento Leicester Square for a late night croissant and cappuccino. (Note: the English drink tea for one very good reason. They cannot make cappuccino. I have forgotten this.)
I returned at 0130 and duly crashed. As there is nothing else that can be done in the hotel.
Check out was 10:00 this morning. Unfortunately, I’m not meeting Katz until 15:00, which meant dragging the luggage around town.
And this is where I got a bit felonious.
I purchased my 1-way Underground fare for Zone 1, hopped the Victoria Line north to St. Pancras, where we’re taking the Rail to Sheffield later today. Everything was going smoothly until I exited.
Either I purchased the wrong ticket (which I don’t think I did) or I tried to go through the exit too quickly. I slid my ticket into the slot as the gates were closing and – as I expected – they popped back open. I went to slide through when an alarm went off.
But I didn’t have enough time to freak out because I was halfway through the gate. I pushed through and did the same with my luggage as the ringing continued. I looked around, saw no police running towards me, put my head down and walked out of the station as quickly as possible.
I snagged my train tickets to Sheffield around the corner from my Felonious Underground Escape and now I’m sipping on a cappuccino at the Coffee Union at King’s Cross Road in London, down the street from the station.
In all honesty, I may be the worst escaping criminal of all time.
But really, the cappuccino is punishment enough.
